


Play Pretend

by liamthebastard



Series: Fanfic Follower Festivities [4]
Category: Peter Pan (Disney) (1953)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't stay in Neverland after the Darlings went home. Instead, he visited Wendy each night, and they flew off together to explore. Now, Wendy is about to turn eighteen, and Peter must return to Neverland before it's too late. They've got one last night to spend before Wendy has to grow up permanently, and Peter has to go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Pretend

“One more flight, Wendy, before you grow up,” Peter said, offering me his hand from my windowsill. Before I could think of all the reasons this was a bad idea, I agreed, taking his hand in mine and letting Tinkerbell sprinkle more of her pixie dust across my hair. 

*  
It’d been years since I last flew with Peter to Neverland; not for want of invitations. It seemed every other night I’d hear a tap at my window and find the boy, clad in green with a feather in his cap, inviting me along for another adventure. I’d always reject the travel, I’d had enough of Neverland’s nonsense thank you very much, but I’d agree for a quick flight around the country. Peter always managed to find some sort of mischief; dropping water down on the constables from above, chasing pigeons off of rooftops, and once, high speed ice-skating down a half-frozen Thames. I nearly caught my death of cold that night, but it was worth it. 

I’m not sure how it happened, but with all the time Peter was spending in my world, he began to age. We kept pace, matching year for year, until we were both seventeen. Now, it was the eve of my eighteenth birthday. The next day, I would officially become an adult, and Peter had said he’d have to return to Neverland before he too grew up.  
*

“Wendy, your hair!” Peter shouted over the wind, flipping onto his back and pulling us to a hovering halt. He pushed it back. “You always forget your ribbon,” he said, taking his free hand and pulling a long ribbon from his pocket. He deftly tied my hair up, faster than I could with only one hand, and then rocketed forward, taking me along with. 

“Where are we going?” I called to him. He turned and gave me a grin, one that I remembered so vividly from my childhood. 

“Trust me,” he laughed back. Suddenly I knew where we were going. My last night as a child, his last night with me, where else could we go? We flew up to Big Ben, landing gently on the hour hand, and I found myself thankful for the early hour. If we’d left closer to eleven per our usual, the hand would have been to steep for us to perch on. But now, at barely half past nine, the hand was a perfect bench. 

Peter didn’t sit as I did, instead he hovered uncertainly, taking his hat in his hand and twisting it worriedly. I watched as he bounced gently in the air. Suddenly, I noticed something missing.

“Where’s Tink?” I asked. She and I had straightened out our differences –meaning I’d apologized and flattered her until she relented- and now I looked on her with a fondness that nearly rivaled Peter’s.

“I had her wait for us in your room,” Peter answered, his voice showing signs of stress. I raised an eyebrow, drawing my knees up to my chest to wait for him. If Peter had something to say, no amount of rushing from me would make him say it before he was ready. 

Rather than talk, he sank down next to me, letting the hand take his weight. We’d long ago stopped worrying about someone seeing us when we flew around; one thing about London, for better or worse, her people never looked up. The clock face was warm behind us, the lights keeping away any small chill our altitude might have brought. 

“Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” Peter asked quietly, setting his hat down in his lap. I started to shake my head, but he cut me off. “I mean, what are we supposed to do? You’ll go off, have a life, get married, and what’ll I do? Go back to Neverland, pretend I never met you, try and ignore this whole world with new adventures waiting for me?” His voice was despondent.

“Peter, you can still visit, and you can go all sorts of places when I’m not with you. You needn’t limit yourself,” I insisted. Peter gave me a look, one that boiled down to _stop talking I’m talking right now_. I got that look a lot. 

“But it wouldn’t be the _same_ ,” Peter said.

“Nothing can stay the same,” I answered quickly, not thinking beforehand. Peter shot me a glance; one I thought of as the _well it is in Neverland_ face. Whenever things around London startled or confused him, he’d give me that face. Sort of homesick, it constantly reminded me that while he might look like a grownup, inside he was still the twelve-year-old boy I’d sewn a shadow onto.

I was about to apologize when he started talking again. “Hey, Wendy, what’s your favorite color?” I knew him well enough to know when he was changing the subject and when he genuinely wanted to know something. This was closer to the latter than the former.

“Hadn’t you already noticed?” I teased, gesturing down to my nightgown. I’d long ago given up any sense of propriety around Peter; he wasn’t a boy, he was… Peter.

“Purple, I knew it!” Peter crowed, hopping into the air in joy. “Then you’re gonna love this.” And once again he had my hand and was pulling me off through the night air. “I’ve been saving it for something special!” 

I laughed as we flew; amazed Peter had managed to keep something in waiting for me. Usually if he found something he liked, he pulled me out of whatever I was doing at the time to go see it. This got tricky when school was in session but I managed to talk him into respecting the sanctity of education.

Or at least to respect the ensuing punishments that I received for skiving off.

We touched down on a hill outside of London, but before I could even glance at my surroundings, Peter covered my eyes. “No peeking,” he ordered firmly. I nodded my agreement, squeezing my eyes closed as I felt Peter remove his hands.

I could hear him fumbling around for a minute, then the sound of cloth, and then silence. “Okay. Open,” Peter said. He sounded almost uncertain. I opened my eyes immediately and gasped in surprise. Peter had spread out a blanket, one thick enough to keep any stray rocks from jabbing us. He gave me a small smile, and reached a hand out. I took it, half-expecting him to take off again, and he pulled us both down to sit on the blanket.

He passed me a sandwich, and I opened my mouth to ask him why he was doing all these, so patently un-Peter like, things.

“Wendy, don’t,” he interrupted. “Just for tonight, let’s pretend, okay? Pretend for me.”

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his very briefly before pulling back. “All right. Let’s pretend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I wrote this for hitting the 500 follower mark on Tumblr, for that-nerd-nextdoor. I really hope she likes it!


End file.
